The Price of Butcher's Meat

by Reginald Hill

Yes, I do. Don’t know where it’s going exactly, but even if it goes nowhere, I think far too much of him to let him put his reputation at risk defending me. I’m not trying to make myself out to be some pillar of virtue here either. Last night after we came back from the hall, I was more than willing to accept Lester’s offer to cover up for me. Like I said, it really made me feel good knowing he’d do that for me. But this morning, specially after I heard about poor Ollie Hollis, I got to thinking this is more than just a simple case of someone knocking off a nasty old woman who’d been asking for it anyway. Telling you lot the truth is important, if only because not telling you the truth could slow down your investigation, and if someone else gets killed, I don’t want to feel in any way responsible. What’s up? You might look a bit pleased instead of sitting there groaning like I’d just told you we were going to have to operate on your piles.

  Nay, lass, of course I’m pleased you’re going to come clean, only I were half-expecting the way you’ve been rattling on that you were building up to a full confession!

  Then you’re going to be disappointed. But two things you ought to know. One is that not long before the storm broke, Lady Denham and me had a bit of a storm of our own. No prizes for guessing what about. I’d been having a wander round the grounds and I came back by the stables. No hunters there anymore since she called it a day after Sir Harry broke his neck, but she still kept her old hack, Ginger. Liked to feel something between her legs, and I bet if she’d ended up in a wheelchair she’d have had it built twice as high as normal so’s she could still look down on the peasants.

  Didn’t like her much, did you, luv?

  You really are a great detective, aren’t you, Andy! Anyway, I thought I’d say hello to the horse. I like horses, specially when they don’t have idiots perched on their backs. But as I got near I saw the door was ajar and I could hear a voice inside. It was Daph Denham, though I didn’t recognize it straight away, it sounded so soft and sad—human, you know, not her usual way of talking, like you were a public meeting she’d rather not be attending.

  Oh aye. And who were she talking to?

  Ginger, of course! Everyone says…said that the horses were really the only things she loved. She could treat humans like dirt, but her horses got the best of everything. Perhaps this was where she headed when she was unhappy…

  Nay, lass! Don’t go sentimental on me.

  Why not? There’s good in all of us, Andy, though it takes a clever surgeon to find it in some.

  I’ll remember that. So what was this sad human stuff she were saying?

  Didn’t hear much of it, it was the intonation that struck. But I did catch something about trusting people, and a pig squealing, I think.

  Mebbe she were thinking the animal rights people were right and she should give up the pigs and go veggie?

  Didn’t get the timing right then, did she? Like I say, I surprised myself by feeling a bit sorry for her, her own party, lady-of-the-manoring it over the hoi polloi, and still she ends up talking to a horse! I’d have moved away quietly, only there was an old feed pail by the door and, as I turned, I gave it a kick. The horse neighed—must have thought it was feeding time—and Lady D called, “Who’s there?” I’d still have made my getaway if there’d been time, but she was at the door in a flash. Looked me up and down, then said, “Oh, it’s only you, Nurse Sheldon.” She always called me Nurse Sheldon, like it was a put-down.

  And were you? Put down, I mean?

  No. I was still feeling sorry for her. I took a sip of my wine—I had a glass of red—champagne goes to my head—and I said, “Hello, Lady Denham. Just admiring your grounds. Looking really lovely, aren’t they?” That seemed to provoke her.

  Why? Sounds pretty bland to me.

  I think that may have been the trouble. I usually look her in the eye, give as good as I get, without being openly rude. This time, I don’t know, maybe I sounded too polite, a bit friendly even, as if I was feeling sorry for her. I think she caught that, and that’s what got her rag.

  So what did she do?

  She lost it. Thinking about it later, I reckon that whatever it was sent her to the stables, it was something that had made her very angry and very sorry for herself at the same time. It was the unhappy bit that came out as she was talking to Ginger, but now all the anger came bubbling up—no, not bubbling, exploding! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! She told me I had no right to go wandering round her property at will, I was only there on sufferance as a paid employee of the Avalon, to represent the nursing staff, and if I had any true sense of my place I’d be back on the lawn, making sure the important guests like Dr. Feldenhammer got properly looked after, instead of wandering round, half inebriated, sticking my nose in where I had no right to be.

  By God, lass! And you stood there taking this?

  Well, no. After a bit I got angry too. Do you blame me? I said things I shouldn’t have said.

  Like what?

  That she thought she was so special but in fact she was a laughingstock. A geriatric nymphomaniac running after a man twenty years younger than herself, a man who found her at best ridiculous, at worst revolting.

  You don’t take prisoners, do you, Pet!

  I’m not proud of some of the things I said, Andy. I ended by telling her it was time the world knew exactly what kind of monster she was and then even her sodding title wouldn’t protect her. By this time she’d stopped yelling back at me. She just stood there, looking at me like I was a piece of dog dirt. And she said something like, “What I am, I am, Nurse Sheldon. I do what I need to do and I accept the consequences. Now go away. You are pathetic.” Suddenly I ran out of things to say. That’s when I threw my wine over her.

  Why? I mean that was nowt compared to what you’d been saying to her. A geriatric nymphomaniac! She must have said summat more than, “You are pathetic.” Summat really offensive. Or threatening. Come to think of it, this thing about letting the world know what kind of monster she was—what’s that mean? Just fancying old Fester doesn’t make her a monster, not in my book, anyway.

  You know what it’s like in a row, Andy. Words just come out.

  Mebbe. Okay. Then what? You and her ran at each other and started pulling each other’s hair?

  No. She stood there like the wine was nothing, I was nothing. I walked away. All right, maybe I walked away because I was afraid of what I might say or do next, but I didn’t do or say it. I went and found Lester and told him what had happened.

  Looking for a comforting hug, were you?

  To warn him that the big moment had likely come. He was going to be faced with a choice, her or me.

  Rarely a wise move, luv, facing a man with a choice. What did he say?

  He said he’d have a word with her, get things sorted. I was still pretty wound up. I said he better had, and quick, I wasn’t going to put up with that old biddy treating me like dirt any longer. Then the storm started and everyone rushed back to the house. I made for the conservatory. It was dark in there and I found a corner hidden away behind a shrub.

  By yourself?

  Yes. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Other people came into the conservatory, but I don’t think any of them saw me. I just sat there and fumed till the storm passed. Then I went outside.

  So Lester was telling a porkie when he gave you an alibi?

  Yes. I didn’t want him to, but when we got back here last night, he said that if Daph Denham had mentioned our bust-up to anyone, it might look bad. It was simpler if he said we’d been together in the conservatory during the storm and it would save the police wasting time going down a dead end.

  Very civic-minded of him. And after the storm? Were you there when they found Lady D?

  In fact, no. Someone spotted your friend, Franny Roote…

  Nay, lass, not my friend.

  Sorry. He speaks very highly of you. Anyway, his wheelchair had got stuck at the bottom of the lawn, which was really boggy after the downpour, and the poor lad had managed to tip it over
trying to get it to move. I don’t know how long he’d been lying there, trying to get the chair upright and drag himself back in. He was a right mess, soaking wet and covered with mud. Someone had to look after him, and I was the obvious choice. I got him back in the chair and a couple of us manhandled it onto firmer ground. Then I pushed him back to the hall. I heard this uproar behind us—that must have been when they found Lady Denham’s body—but I was concentrating on getting poor Franny back inside where I could check him out properly.

  Aye, quite right, the patient comes first, eh? So how was poor Mr. Roote?

  Fortunately he didn’t seem to have done himself any real damage, so it was just a case of cleaning him up and drying him down as best I could. And while I was doing this, people started coming back inside, all talking about the murder, naturally.

  That must have been a shock.

  Of course it was a bloody shock! She was an old monster, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be killed and roasted like a pig! I couldn’t take it in. I just concentrated on getting Franny sorted. He was really upset, didn’t want to leave, but I told him if he didn’t get himself home and into some dry clothes, I wouldn’t answer for the consequences. A man in his circumstances is very susceptible to pneumonia. I wheeled him out to his car and helped him in. I offered to go with him, but he said no, he was fine now. Then he drove off. I was going to go back into the house, but suddenly I couldn’t face it. Also I’d got myself all mucky cleaning up Mr. Roote. So I got into my own car and drove back here. I got myself cleaned up, then I had a word with you, remember?

  A pleasure as always, Pet, but why did you do that?

  I don’t know. I thought, being a policeman, you ought to know what was going off. After we’d talked, I went up to the clinic, saw Lester’s car there so knew he was back. And I went in and we talked things over.

  And cooked up your little story, to save us poor overworked bobbies from wasting time down a dead end. Kind of you, except of course you haven’t done it. Does Lester know you’ve changed your mind and are telling me what really happened?

  Yes. After he rang me to warn me you were coming to see me, I looked out of the window and I saw you sitting out there on the lawn, and after a while, just watching you, I found myself thinking, That doesn’t look like a man I want to lie to. So I rang Lester back and told him I’d decided to come clean.

  Did he give you an argument?

  Not really. He said it was up to me, he was still ready to stand by our story, even if it meant lying in court. I said I was really grateful but I didn’t want it to come to that, and he said in that case it was probably for the best, and to tell you he was sorry, and if you wanted to see him again, this time he’d be completely frank with you.

  Big on him! So then it was love and kisses down the line and promises you’d meet up later for something a bit more substantial. Nay, don’t look offended, lass. With old Daph out of the way, you don’t want to hang about. Strike while the iron’s hot. And when you’ve both got your breath back, you can tell Lester I’ll look forward to talking to him again, but meanwhile I’ve got other fish to fry. Right? Now I’ll be off. Take care, Pet. And try not to kill any patients, eh? Not with the boys in blue all over the town! Cheers!

  8

  So what do you make of that, Mildred? I could do with a bit of female input.

  Nowt worries me more from a woman than a sudden rush of honesty. Usually means they’re hiding something, in my experience!

  Old Fester too. Mebbe after I went back in to pick up my file and Mildred, he got to thinking I could have been eavesdropping on his call to Pet. Mebbe it weren’t Pet’s idea to come clean, but Fester’s. Mebbe there’s something he’s more worried about me finding out than that the two of them were both wandering round loose during the period when Daph got topped. I’d put money it’s got summat to do with that song about the Indian maid, the one that got Fester so upset when Ted the bart whistled it in the pub. I were singing it in the shower when Pet jumped me. Got to give it to her, the way she explained doing that were pretty convincing! Don’t know why they give Oscars to them Hollywood stars for spouting some other bugger’s lines when half the women I know could act ’em off the screen without breaking sweat! No, it was Daph visiting me, then me singing “The Indian Maid” as did it.

  My guess is Daph must have got something on Fester, something that meant he couldn’t just tell her to sod off and bother some other bugger. She wants him, but she can’t buy him, ’cos, first off, he seems pretty comfortable already, and second, it’s clear the one intimate part of herself she kept out of everyone’s reach was her purse! Nay, it had to be summat really personal to keep him dangling at the end of Lady D’s string.

  Likely Pete’ll think I’m delusional if I tell him any of this. Any road, last thing I want is him getting a sniff of my knee trembler with Pet. Don’t think he’s got any secrets from Ellie. Okay, she wouldn’t go running to Cap, but by God, the reproachful glowers I’d have to put up with! So I’ll sit on that till I know what it is I’m sitting on, as the actress said to the bishop.

  What Pete will like is knowing how the wine got on Daph’s dress. I can see his eyes lighting up as he thinks, What if it went further than wine throwing and ended up with Pet on top of her, throttling the poor old biddy? Doesn’t mean to kill her, but when she realizes how far things have gone, she rushes off to fetch Fester. So they decide the best thing is to stick her in the hog roast!

  Doesn’t sound all that likely to me. And it ’ud mean all that stuff about fixing then unfixing their stories was even more complicated than it looks! No, like all the best lies, I reckon most of Pet’s story is true, up until the storm starts anyway.

  So what was all that stuff about squealing pigs she overheard? Mebbe the animal rights nutters had got close enough to really put the frighteners on Daph. But you don’t soften people up, then top them, do you?

  So where now? Report back to Pete?

  Nay, he’ll have plenty of other things to worry about. And I don’t want to look like I’m hanging around, all pathetic, like them poor old sods who sit on park benches watching the lasses playing tennis.

  Not that I’d mind the company of a bit of young stuff for a change. That lass of Stompy Heywood’s now, she’s got an interesting way of looking at things. And a nice turn of phrase. If I’d caught her a bit younger, she might have trained up into a good cop. Said I needed a bit of female input, didn’t I, Mildred? And talking to her ’ud give me the chance to take a closer look at the Parker setup. Sounds like if anyone will benefit from poor old Daph’s departure, it’s Tom Parker. Now he’ll have free scope to put all his daft ideas into action!

  So Kyoto House it is. But how am I to get there? That’s the rub. No problem, Pet ’ull fix me up a lift. Her and Fester will be only too glad to see me off the premises.

  And if I time it right, I might get a bite of lunch too!

  9

  FROM: charley@whiffle.com

  TO: cassie@natterjack.com

  SUBJECT: whos a big twit then?!

  Hi!

  Ive done it again! Why should I be surprised? This started—more or less—with me dropping the old lemonade jug & seeing it hit the one stone remaining in Mill Meadow, like Id aimed it. That should have been a warning. Charley girl—you dont want to get mixed up in this—but mixed ups what I am!

  Sorry—waffling—dont worry—Ive not been arrested or anything like that—tho maybe I should be.

  Back to the beginning—after I shot my last off to you I felt a lot better—also felt in need of coffee—so went downstairs to find Mary preparing a tray with a cafetiere & some choc cake—which she was going to bring up—in case I wasnt well! Typical—time to think of others—even in the middle of a crisis—which it is for them. Got to remember that. For them its a crisis—for me its just grand opera. I can leave the theater anytime I like—head for home—get my life back—turn all this into an anthology of entertaining anecdotes for my mates.

  But
Tom & Mary will be back here on the stage—having to deal with whatever comes up.

  The kids were playing somewhere in the garden—making a lot of noise. Id seen Minnie briefly as I came downstairs. Shes seriously pissed with me—returned a glower for my friendly smile—& vanished. At Marys suggestion I took my tray outside onto the terrace—& she joined me—& I got stuck into the coffee & cake—yummy! For a few minutes it was easy to forget everything that had happened. The sun was shining—the sea was sparkling blue like a Riviera tourist poster—not a hint of yesterdays storm—& the visibility was so good you could probably see all the way across to Holland—if (I recalled Sids remark) you really wanted to.

  Then Tom came up the drive.

  Nice to see him—of course—but it did mean end of quiet interlude time. Even as he walked across the terrace toward us—he was launching into a blow by blow account of his morning so far.

  Spent most of his time—I gathered—making sure everyone affected by the development plans understood Lady Ds death didnt change anything. Comfort & light peddler—thats Tom. His message to them was—Lady D would have wanted them to go ahead with the Festival of Health as planned—put the tragedy behind them—full steam ahead to the Promised Land—with Sandytown on the map as its unrivaled capital—a fit memorial to dear dead Daphne!